The First Time
by Becka-Kaye
Summary: A fluffy Hayffie one-shot about the evolution of their relationship from the very beginning...


The first time he meets Effie Trinket, the new District 12 escort, he despises her on sight. She's escorted grandly into the grimy square by Mayor Undersee, his petite eight-year-old daughter Madge following in their wake carrying a bouquet of flowers for the new escort. In the cordoned area below the children of District 12 gather, a sight that always makes Haymitch's stomach clench unpleasantly.

She stands out like a blemish in the rundown square of District 12, her garish violet dress, glittery heels and buttercup yellow wig look downright ridiculous in his opinion, too loud against the muted greys and beiges of the buildings. He can see from her expression that she finds the town utterly repugnant, but is putting a brave face on it.

When she is finally introduced to Haymitch, her gushing enthusiasm about how it's going to be a 'big, big year' pisses him off. She's Capitol through and through, a pampered madam who's never had to go through a reaping in all her twenty-six years of living, has never wondered how her family will eat, and who reminisces joyfully about last year's Hunger Games.

Finally, when she mentions to little Madge that "It won't be too long now until you have the chance to compete, sweetheart" as though the child has a choice, Haymitch finally snaps, telling her to shut the fuck up.

He watches as her heavily made up face falls, her grey eyes looking deeply hurt for an instant before she covers it up with a beaming smile, and starts to discuss the schedule with Mayor Undersee.

...

The first time he makes Effie Trinket cry is during the Games. Their first Hunger Games working as a team, the 66th Hunger Games ever. Effie's positivity and enthusiasm has been sustained until Day 3, when their tributes Lia and Thim are respectively killed; Thim by a Career and Lia by a brutal tribute from District 9.

Lia's death upsets both of them enormously, an elf-like 13-year-old from the Seam who had the killer instinct of a kitten. She had been doomed from the outset, and Effie and Haymitch had both known it.

"Well," Effie says, swallowing hard after they hear the cannon boom. "That's that, then."

Haymitch feels his fury rise, staring her down with disgust. "End of our entertainment, is it sweetheart?" He asks, icily. "Like you care." He downs the remainder of the bottle of white spirit in his hands and throws it at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it shatters into thousands of pieces.

Effie looks stunned for a second at his outburst, the first time he's ever seen her momentarily lost for words. "I do care," she replies quietly. "Poor Lia. She didn't stand a chance."

"And whose fault is that," Haymitch roars, as Effie shrinks back. "Your bloody Capitol's fault, that's whose. Those kids, year after year… And you condone it. You find it… Entertaining." He glares at her. "It's barbaric, sweetheart, so don't expect me to feel sorry that you'll have to wait a year until the next one."

He knows he's being slightly unfair to the perky escort even as he speaks the words, seeing the tears streaming down her face. He knows, deep down, that Effie did care quite a bit about their tributes; she made an effort to get to know them in the approach to the Games and had become quite attached to Lia in particular. He knows that she spent half the night flirting with sponsors and trying desperately to persuade them to take a chance on Lia to give her any advantage.

He knows that what he's just said – no, screamed – is enough to have him arrested, tortured and killed by the peacekeepers, despite the fact he's said it in the privacy of their viewing room. He knows that Effie could well report him.

She doesn't.

...

The first time he gets Effie Trinket disgracefully drunk is a year later, the night before they send their latest tributes into the arena for the 67th Hunger Games. He's astounded that she's returned to be the District 12 escort again; this is the first time in sixteen years that he hasn't scared an escort off after the first year.

Effie is her usual irritatingly cheerful self, hiding Haymitch's supply of alcohol on the train journey and admonishing him about being affecting their schedule. But there's something in her eyes as she talks to their tributes, a fervour that wasn't there last year. He realises that in some way, the children matter to her, and he begins to somewhat thaw towards her.

The night before the Games, Haymitch is busy trying to drink himself into a stupor when there's a knock at the door. He flings it open, astounded to see Effie Trinket standing there, resplendent in all her evening finery from the launch party.

"Well, sweetheart, this is a surprise," he drawls. For the first time, he thinks Effie actually looks quite good, in a floor-length navy blue gown and a shimmering silver wig.

To his surprise, Effie pushes past him. "I need a drink," she states, kicking off her heels and waving a bottle at him. "And a lady doesn't drink alone. And I thought to myself, who would be up for drinking at this time of night? Ah yes, the District 12 mentor, who else?"

Haymitch does a mock-bow and pushes the door shut, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. "Your wish is my command, m'lady."

"Oh, shut up and pour," Effie demands sharply, in a tone he's never heard before.

Haymitch isn't quite sure what to make of Effie's bizarre mood, but he obeys her command, never being one to abstain from alcohol, and pours the amber-coloured liquid into tumblers. "What is this stuff?"

"Honeyblossom Wine," Effie replies archly. "I may need a drink, but I certainly won't touch that white spirit you seem intent on destroying yourself with."

Haymitch wrinkles his nose. "Suit yourself, Eff." He passes her the glass and watches, mildly impressed, as she downs the tumbler in one go. "What's gotten into you, princess? Stylist do your hair in last month's fashion?"

Effie glares at him as she pours herself another tumbler of wine. "I would have thought you of _all_ people would know why I need to drink, Haymitch," she retorts, sipping the next glass more daintily.

That brings him up short. "Ah, tomorrow," Haymitch acknowledges, taking a swig from his own glass. "Shit, isn't it?" He raises the glass in a mock toast. "To the tributes of District 12, poor sods."

Effie sighs, and he sees her face drop. "I'm so worried," she admits. "Kally just couldn't stop crying this evening. Jordash is a bit more solid, but his training score was low. I just can't see how…" She trails off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"No," Haymitch agrees with her. "Me either."

"And then," Effie continues, a sudden fierceness entering her voice. "I went to the launch party – spoke to the sponsors, the other escorts… They're all so _negative_ about our tributes. Seneca Crane actually laughed when I told him I was trying to find sponsors, actually told me not to bother my pretty little head with it." She slams her glass down on the table with a little more vehemence than she intends.

"Welcome to my world, darlin'," Haymitch drawls, taking another swig. "Well, aside from the pretty little head part."

"At least I'm trying to find sponsors," Effie snaps, turning her temper on him. "What have you been doing for the whole day? Oh yes, drinking, of course."

"Don't see you complaining at the moment, darlin'," he replies, giving her a mock toast. Then, with a sudden seriousness, he points out "We're on the same side, Eff. I know what those bastards are like – why do you think I avoid the launch party like the plague? It pisses me off too much. But don't take it out on me, Eff, just because you've got yer panties in a twist over it."

Effie has the decency to look slightly ashamed. "I'm sorry," she says, after a moment. "It was unfair of me." Then, she looks at Haymitch and causes him to snort by continuing with, "and _don't_ talk about my panties."

They drink in silence for a few minutes. Outside they can hear the shouts from the streets; the night before the launch is always a massive, decadent party for much of the Capitol. Haymitch despises it every year, hearing the whole goddamn Capitol celebrating the impending deaths of twenty-three tributes.

"I remember your Games, you know," Effie says, breaking the silence. Haymitch's blood runs cold. "That Quarter Quell… I was just 11. I was hoping you'd win, actually. I liked how you tried to help the girl from your district."

"Maysilee," Haymitch says automatically, thinking of the pretty blonde girl. He'd known her quite well, even before the Reaping. They'd been in the same class at school, he remembered. She was from one of the better-off families of District 12, had hoped to become a teacher, before the Games. Memories of the arena flood back, and a chill runs down his spine. "Did you enjoy it?" He asks, icily.

Effie has the grace to flush. "Some of it," she admits, and he both respects her for telling the truth, and despises her all at once. "I always hated the killings – I don't like blood. But I suppose I did like the drama of it back then. You don't think too much about it when you're young, and it's all you've ever known."

Haymitch bites down the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. Normally, he'd make a particularly biting comment, but despite the fact he thinks Effie Trinket is a spoilt Capitol bitch at heart, he still doesn't really want her to leave. Any company is better than being alone tonight.

They drink, watching the replays of the tributes interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Haymitch invents a new drinking game where each time they decide their tributes are doomed, they take a drink. Effie points out that's pretty much his strategy for life, and not really a drinking game, but she joins in anyway until around 3am when – following a rather drunken debate on Caesar Flickerman's atrocious style of all things – they pass out side by side.

The next day, both tributes are killed at the Cornucopia, lasting ten seconds and forty-six seconds respectively. As they leave the Viewing Room, Haymitch passes Effie his hipflask. Despite her headache, she swigs deeply from it anyway, beginning to understand why he so frequently seeks solace in the bottom of a bottle.

...

The first time he makes Effie Trinket laugh, really laugh, is one year later when he's mentoring Aya and Justan in the 68th Hunger Games. They're both sitting in Haymitch's assigned quarters, a bottle of Honeyblossom Wine being split between them. After last year it's becoming a new tradition, to spend the night before the Games beginning getting blind drunk. He knows Effie frowns upon his drinking the rest of the time, but after two horrible years she does understand the need to really let go the night before they send the tributes into the arena. He still dislikes her enormously, but they've somehow learnt to work together for the tributes' sake.

After glass number two, Effie opens up for the first time, tells him about her childhood growing up in the Capitol, and he begins to realise that maybe it wasn't as idyllic as he'd always assumed. Her tongue loosened, she tells of classmates hauled away and becoming Avoxes, purely because their parents had offended President Snow. She tells him about the time she was beaten, at age 8, for not singing the anthem of Panem when she had a sore throat. She tells him of a friend who joked about a rebellion on a drunken night out – and was never seen again.

He begins to realise why Effie Trinket is so damn guarded and nearly always on her best behaviour in public.

To cheer her up – and he's sober enough to appreciate the irony in this role reversal – he tells her stories about his childhood, about his younger brother Corrinth and the stupid pranks they used to play on one another. She completely cracks up as he reminisces about hiding a toad in his brother's bed, making his brother scream so loud that the neighbours came running, half-clothed in the middle of the night, and he smiles at her laugh; not the polite affected Capitol giggle, but a proper belly laugh that wouldn't sound out of place in District 12.

Haymitch decides he'd like to hear it again sometime, then promptly decides he must be far drunker than he'd realised. Damn Honeyblossom wine.

...

The first time he kisses Effie Trinket, it's a year later during another Honeyblossom Wine night before the launch of the 69th Hunger Games. This year, Effie's grown more attached to the tributes than usual, and has gotten a real bee in her bonnet about the male tribute, Lukas. She's decided, with her usual positivity, that it's their year and can't stop talking about strategy; whether Lukas ought to team up with the Careers and plan some kind of trap or whether he should go it alone, and Haymitch just can't bear it anymore.

He know Lukas won't make it back, in training he's been strong but Haymitch knows he lacks the natural instincts that mean the difference between life and death in the arena. But annoying as Effie is he somehow can't stand to tell her the truth, to see the hope in her eyes diminish, and yet equally he can't stand hearing her continue to talk about the Games, so to shut her up he suddenly kisses her.

She's stunned for a second, eyes wide open with surprise, not moving. But she doesn't push him away. Then suddenly, tentatively, Effie starts to kiss him back, and that's all it takes for Haymitch to surrender to the moment, kissing her with abandon as he runs his hands over her silky soft skin, breathing in the spicy scent that is Effie. Her lips are soft, and the gentle hands roaming his chest and back are his undoing, causing him to deepen the kiss.

They finally pause for air, and Haymitch draws back to look at her, trying to gauge whether he ought to apologise or not, taking in the clear surprise in her grey eyes. Then she smiles, invitingly, and he leans in again.

He knows they'll blame it on the wine. He doesn't care, so long as she doesn't stop.

...

The first time he sees Effie Trinket minus her makeup it's a year later, the advent of the 70th Hunger Games. They're on the high-speed train to the Capitol, in the dead of night, when he wakes to hear a bloodcurdling, terrified scream.

It startles Haymitch out of his drunken stupor, and grasping the always-present knife from under his pillow he bursts into her sleeping compartment, ready to defend her. His eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, and he scans each corner before realising there's nothing to fight, and finally he gazes at Effie, all tangled in the sheets breathing heavily with tears running down her face.

"I had a bad dream," she explains, quietly, sounding utterly mortified. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Haymitch wonders abruptly if the woman knows what a true nightmare is, but he sits down on her bed to comfort her anyway, because after five years and a fair few kisses he has a tiny soft spot for Effie, and he has sympathy for anyone whose sleep is plagued with terrors.

Then, as he grasps her hand gently, suddenly he notices Effie. Really, really notices her for the first time. Her real hair is curly, a soft shiny blonde that falls to just below her shoulders. Her cheeks are scattered with freckles the colour of cinnamon, and he wonders why the hell she hides underneath a wig and make-up.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, unthinkingly, as he gazes at the strap of her lacy nightgown slipping mesmerizingly down her creamy arm, then catches himself. "Shit, sorry. Drunk."

In the dim light, he can see Effie flush. "You don't need to tell me how ridiculous I look without makeup, Haymitch," she says abruptly, and he realises she thought he was teasing. "I dreamed about the arena," she says, before he can correct her.

Haymitch's stomach churns, and a shiver runs down his spine as his own nightmares surface in his mind. "Horrible, ain't it sweetheart?" He asks her, knowing the answer. Gently, he strokes her shaking hand.

Effie's grey eyes are filled with tears. "It was last year's arena. I was trapped in the quicksand, like Jael was at the end. The mutts were coming, I could hear them for so long, and we couldn't move." He could see the desperation in her eyes. Last year's games had been particularly brutal; although their tributes Lukas and Meria hadn't lasted beyond Day 4, Effie had been crossing her fingers for 12-year-old Jael from District 3. As always, the youngest tributes tore at her heart. His death had been particularly unpleasant, and Haymitch recalled how Effie had buried her head in his arms, regardless of the crowd in the Viewing Room as they'd watched the District 3 tribute slowly torn to shreds by the razor sharp claws of the mutts.

But something about her words nags at him. "We?" Haymitch queries, quirking an eyebrow at the notion he featured in her nightmare. She nods, a rosy blush staining her cheeks.

"It was horrible," she confirms, the tears falling as she recalls it. He strokes her hand gently.

"Well I can see how the thought of being trapped with me was terrifying," he tells her, turning it into a joke. He gazes at her, brushing her tears away with his free hand. "You'll never go into the arena, Effie."

"No one should," Effie chokes out through her tears, without thinking, then gasps and clutches her hands to her mouth in horrorr. Furtively, she glances about the room, as if waiting for the peacekeepers to barge in and arrest her, but nothing happens.

After a pause, Haymitch agrees. "No, you're right. No one should."

The words in the air are treasonous, enough to have them both killed, and they know it. But they are spoken, and relief floods Effie, somehow, at finally telling someone what she's been thinking deep down since the first Hunger Games she attended as the escort for District 12.

They stay up for hours, talking about anything and everything. He knows from long experience of nightmares that Effie won't be able to sleep again, and he knows he needs to distract her. So they talk about the weather, tell stupid half-remembered jokes from their childhood, and mock the most ridiculous names to come out of District 1 (Effie swears she's met a man named Sunbeam – Haymitch is certain she's pulling his leg).

They don't talk about the Games.

Finally, as dawn breaks, Effie mentions something about the schedule and announces she's getting dressed, so Haymitch starts to leave. He kisses her hand before letting it go, because somehow he's gotten into a stupid habit of touching and kissing her at every possible opportunity. At the door, he looks back, uttering the words on his lips quickly so he can't change his mind.

"I did mean it, you know. About the makeup."

Later in the day, Haymitch gets drunk as it becomes clear the latest tributes aren't up to much, and Effie talks to anyone who'll listen about her schedule. Business as usual, then.

But he could _swear_ she's wearing less eyeliner.

...

The first time he sleeps with Effie Trinket, it's a year later. It's another Honeyblossom Wine night, before the 71st Hunger Games begin. Except they're drinking Elderflower Wine despite the slightly lower alcohol content, because Effie mentioned last year that it's her favourite. Haymitch doesn't want to begin to contemplate the deeper implications of voluntarily drinking a lower alcohol beverage because of a woman.

Effie's spread out on the sofa, a rosy glow in her cheeks from the wine. Her heels came off half an hour ago, her wig followed soon after. She's letting her guard down more often around him now, being more natural and although he tries not to think too much about it, he likes the change. These Games have the promise to be a particularly bad year for District 12 – their tributes are doomed and they both know it – and drinking really is the only escape from what comes tomorrow.

After the wine is finished Haymitch breaks out the white spirit, and they cuddle closer together on the sofa, because that's become a bit of a night before the Games tradition too.

Effie kisses him first this time, and Haymitch responds readily, pulling her onto his lap for a deeper kiss, absently noticing that she's much lighter than last year. He loses himself in the kiss, her warm, enthusiastic mouth endlessly distracting.

Her hands begin to roam, sliding stealthily underneath his shirt, and he can't help but respond in kind though this is a line they've never crossed. She moans, the most erotic thing he's heard in a long while, and he deepens the kiss. Before Haymitch can contemplate the situation, they've somehow drunkenly made it to her bed, clothes notably absent, and as he feels her soft, warm skin pressed up against his chest, a smooth leg sliding over his thigh, all he can think is God, we should have done this _years_ ago.

But then Effie pauses briefly, and Haymitch comes back to the present, suddenly feeling more sober. "Do you want to stop?" He asks her, awkwardly. "We don't have to… You know." It's been ages. Years. Actually, over a decade when he begins to count, since he last did this. And he wants her so badly it actually hurts. But he doesn't want her to regret this, not Effie, who he's vaguely begun to quite like.

Effie blushes, her blonde curls bouncing as she shakes her head. "I don't want to stop," she admits. "Unless you want to-" He kisses her before she even finishes the sentence, and then there's no talking for a long while.

When Haymitch finally leaves, as dawn is beckoning and the mockingjays on the roof are singing, he can't stop grinning. And he thinks, ruefully, that he's just found the only good thing to ever come out of the Hunger Games.

...

The first time he sees Effie Trinket ignore her much-valued schedule is a year later, before the 72nd Hunger Games. They're lying in bed on the train taking them to the Capitol, fingers intertwined as they both capture their breath after a particularly intense reunion. The façade of propriety between them lasted precisely until the door to Haymitch's sleeping compartment slammed shut. They'd spoken through the year, for once, Effie being the only person to ring Haymitch on the telephone he despised, but hadn't set eyes on one another for exactly 334 days. Not, of course, that either had counted.

"I missed you," Effie tells him, snuggling her head in deeper to his chest. The admission surprises Haymitch, who's accustomed to suppressing feelings at all costs, certainly not talking about them.

But he just can't help himself from confessing "I missed you too," in the quietest tone he can manage, not quite meeting her grey eyes. Effie has never had to live with the reality that people you care about can be put in danger, should anyone be listening. But, god help him, he _did_ miss her.

To distract himself from these thoughts, because this avenue of thought isn't something Haymitch wants to dwell on, his hand skating over her body, loving the smoothness of Effie's skin, languidly moving from her hip, over her breasts to her cheek, tilting it to claim a long, melting kiss.

Finally, Haymitch sighs ruefully, pulling away and glancing at the clock. "I suppose we should get dressed for dinner," he suggests, not wanting to in the slightest.

Effie gets a strange look on her face, one that Haymitch can't quite interpret – and he finds that strange, because normally he can read Effie like a book.

"Let's stay here," she says suddenly, a glint of rebellion in her eyes and a smile on her face. "I don't care about dinner. There's some champagne in the fridge, and we can order something from the kitchen."

Haymitch is genuinely shocked, something he prides himself on rarely being, and he feels his jaw drop. "But… The schedule…"

Effie looks him in the eyes. "We are ignoring the schedule, Haymitch."

Haymitch blinks, because he must be dreaming. "Ignoring the schedule?"

"Yes," she replies with certainty, enjoying his reaction. "We are ignoring the schedule."

As he continues to gape at her, she kisses him again. Soon, thoughts of the schedule are far from either of their minds.

The next day, as Effie sternly reminds their young tributes to adhere to the schedule when they are late to training, he winks at her, stifling a laugh.

...

The first time he realises that he loves Effie Trinket is a year later, during the 73rd Hunger Games.

They begin the Games in their usual fashion, together every night since the train, an evening of Elderflower Wine before the launch, and their tributes are launched into the Arena. Ema, their female tribute, is bitten by a poisonous snake. An anonymous donor buys her some astronomically expensive anti-venom, but dark-haired Ema is killed by the District 5 tribute before she's fully healed, much to their dismay.

Although Effie doesn't tell him, Haymitch finds out that Effie spent her wages from the Games, and a large chunk of her savings on the anti-venom. In private, he confronts her about it, not angry, but curious. And somewhat perplexed.

Effie can't meet his eyes. "I don't like snakes," she tells him quietly. It's a thinly veiled lie. Oh, he knows she doesn't like snakes, not since she saw them in a zoo when she was five and one hissed at her through the glass. But he also knows in that moment that somewhere along the line this has become much more than a simple job for Effie; that the naïve Capitol girl who became the District 12 escort seven years ago has changed irrevocably. Like him, her heart sinks when they pick the tributes, she dies a little on the inside when they lose them each damned year. Like him, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Effie Trinket would go to any lengths to help the tributes of the Hunger Games.

And Haymitch loves her for it, so much it hurts. And he kisses her, hard, pouring all his emotions into the kiss.

"I bought the bread," he confesses as they break apart. "And the anti-inflammatory for Gwyn last year. And the burn cream for Phion the year before-"

Effie's kiss cuts him off mid-sentence, an intense, desperate kiss.

They finally separate, struggling to catch their breath.

"What are we going to do?" Effie asks, despondently. He knows she's not just referring to them, although that's certainly becoming a more pressing question with every passing year. She's talking about the tributes, the games, and the whole bloody shebang.

He sighs, suddenly needing a drink. "I don't know," he says truthfully, pulling her close.

...

The first time he argues with Effie Trinket is just a few days later, on top of the roof garden, beneath the tinkling wind chimes that conceal their conversation. Haymitch tells her the truth; because he knows by now Effie can be trusted with his life.

He's been approached by the underground movement. He's careful not to mention names, as the less Effie knows the safer she'll be, but it was Finnick and Johanna who approached him during the Games. Somehow they staged an hour-long blackout to distract anyone who might be watching or listening, cutting all power to all buildings in a ten-block radius. They tracked him down while Capitol officials were busy fretting over it, and asked him if he was interested in helping their cause.

Effie is furious. Not because he's joining the underground movement – his once irritating Capitol escort has turned into a bit of a rebel at heart, ready to fight for the cause of her tributes – but because he won't let her help. And worse, wants them to break things off for awhile because God help him, she's the only precious thing to him anymore.

"I can be trusted, you know," Effie points out, clearly wounded as she resists the hug he tries to offer her.

"It's not about that, sweetheart," he says with a sigh. "We have to keep it professional from now on, just doing what we need to for the Games. I have to know you're safe here, Effie. If I get caught, and they know we're involved, they'll torture you. Kill you. I made a mockery of the Capitol once, and my Mother and Brother paid the price. I won't lose you to the Games, too."

Effie argues persuasively for over an hour, and he'd expected nothing less, but Haymitch is firm. Finally, she breaks down into sobs, letting Haymitch hold her close. And as he feels that heart-wrenching sensation, wanting to make her pain stop, he remembers why he stopped caring about people in the first place, because this emotion is so damned dangerous. He'd kill for her, die for her, spill secrets – do anything to keep her safe. He knows that implicitly. And if Snow knows it, Effie's life could be at stake, and that Haymitch just cannot allow.

"Effie," he says, quietly into her ear. "I've been a waste of space for years. And I need to try and help the underground, because I owe it to the forty-four children I've led to their death in that goddamn arena. And I know you could help, but I need to know that no-one can hurt you, or use you as a pawn in this." He swallows heavily, making sure the wind chimes are still obscuring their conversation. "I love you," he says, and he feels her start. "It's the only time you'll hear me say that, because it could put you in danger, but it's so true, Effie."

Effie glances up at him, and sees the look in her eyes, putting a finger over her lips.

"Don't. Don't say it, Eff. I don't need to hear it, I know. Tell me when this is over"

Effie half-smiles at that. "When this is over…" She begins to ask, tentatively, in a questioning tone. "What then?"

"I can't make any promises," Haymitch warns her. "But if we come out the other side of this in one piece…"

"If we do," Effie agrees, looking at him pointedly. "What then?"

Haymitch feels a smile creeping over his face for the first time that evening. "Well then, Effie Trinket, I think I might just have to marry you."

...

The first time he shows his feelings for Effie Trinket in front of people is the day Primrose Everdeen's name is drawn in the reaping. Haymitch had been unable to stop himself from counting down the days until the reaping, hating himself for almost looking forward to it purely because it meant Effie would arrive in District 12. Beautiful, beautiful Effie. They hadn't spoken in the year – he'd ripped his telephone from the blasted wall after the last Games, just in case one of them should cave – and he'd missed her more than he'd ever imagined.

He wonders if she's changed her mind. He wonders a _lot_ if she's moved on, if there's anyone else.

Haymitch watches as she steps from the train, arriving in District 12 in her usual vibrant outfit, a cheerful green this time, and she looks delectable despite the stupid pink wig. He watches as she gives coins and kisses to the grimy children of the Seam who cluster around her, a sharp contrast to the first time she stepped from the train with disdain on her face, and he fights the urge to kiss her, pull her into a deep hug, to spirit her away to his house and make love to her for hours.

Instead, he gets much, much drunker than he usually does during the Games and tries to hug Effie in front of the crowds. She pushes him away, but for a brief instant he sees the flicker of longing in her eyes. He knows, suddenly, that there has been no-one else. Not for Effie Trinket.

He sobers up slightly, watching stoically as she reads out the names during the reaping. During the year, Haymitch avoids the children of District 12 like the plague, not wanting to form any attachments, but his stomach sinks as he hears the name Primrose Everdeen, thinking of the small girl who brings goat's cheese to his house. As she walks towards the podium, he notices the brief flash of horror on Effie's face as she sees who tiny Primrose is – his Effie always has a particularly soft spot for the young ones.

He watches as below the podium she pinches her wrist sharply with her other hand leaving red half-moons, a tactic he knows distracts her from crying, and they both watch as Katniss Everdeen takes her sister's place.

Effie recovers the situation well, but is clearly shaken – she's surely never used an expression like "I'll bet my boots" before in her life – and Haymitch knows she's just relieved they won't be sending a twelve-year-old to her doom this year.

But when the crowd raise their silent tribute to Katniss, Haymitch sees Effie's eyes tear over and he realises she's about to lose it completely. Cry, or say something that could be considered against the Capitol. And he knows, in an instant, that the Capitol will never let such a public display broadcast to the entirety of Panem go unpunished so he does the only thing that occurs to him; drunkenly lumbers across the stage to draw attention to himself and Katniss, ultimately falling and feigning unconsciousness.

Afterwards, Effie goes to pull him up, presumably under the guise of getting the ceremony back on track with her schedule. But she holds his hand a second longer than strictly necessary, and looks deep into his eyes as she whispers "thank you" in the faintest of breaths.

It's amongst the few civil words spoken between them that day, since Haymitch gets blind drunk. The Games are hard enough to cope with, but knowing that Effie won't be in his bed at the end of the day makes it unbearable. He ultimately staggers into the dining car that evening, worried he's missed dinner through his drunken haze; he knows how much Effie usually loves that dratted schedule, though the one exception to that particular rule is still seared permanently into his mind.

But he ends up vomiting, Effie gingerly steps around him and leaves, and he sleeps alone and miserable that night.

...

The first time he ever hears Effie Trinket swear is the next morning, on the train. Although neither of them have spoken of it, they're desperately trying to keep things professional and work together for the tributes' sake. Effie's hiding behind her overly-enthusiastic act, and Haymitch is drowning his sorrows in a vat of white spirit.

Ignoring Peeta, and the fact that she may be revealing too much in front of their male tribute, Effie tells Haymitch in no uncertain terms that he needs to get his act together – he's _never_ drunk this much during the Games before, and it's doing none of them any favours. Haymitch doesn't have the heart to point out that it's because of her, that perky Effie Trinket is the only thing that's made the past eight years bearable without a nearly constant flow of alcohol.

Finally, after realising that Haymitch has laced his morning coffee with some spirit he found in his cabin, Effie loses her temper and storms off, and he distinctly hears the words "fucking bastard" leave her lips. He laughs in spite of himself, because it's the first time he's ever heard her swear, despite all they've been through and everything they've done.

And god, he wants to go and kiss the words from her lips, and quite frankly do a hell of a lot more, but instead he laughs and forces himself to eat his breakfast.

That night, they watch the big screen in the Screening Room as Katniss and Peeta attend the opening ceremony bathed in flames. As Katniss and Peeta grasp hands, Effie's tiny, well-manicured hand finds his automatically, and squeezes for all it's worth.

"I still do, you know," he whispers to her as the crowd in the Screening Room make a racket, and Effie smiles.

"Me too," she says, in the quietest of tones.

For the rest of the Games they snipe at each other, the frustrating tension between them unbearable. Occasionally they hold hands during the tense moments, and kiss just once, the night Katniss and Peeta win the Games. Haymitch turns the lights off in her apartment before kissing her as silently as he can – the Capitol is still full of eyes and ears, and Effie is still the most precious thing he knows. Besides, if next year's plans for the Quarter Quell come off, he needs to make damn sure she won't be punished for his transgressions.

Despite the nightmare situation of trying to keep Katniss and Peeta playing the loving couple, one brilliant moment comes out of it; watching Effie, looking beautiful in a floor-length red gown, finally get her moment to step out onto Caesar Flickerman's stage to dip a curtsey and hear a raucous round of applause from the crowd. As he sees her eyes fill with tears, he knows she's so proud to finally be taking two live tributes home to their families.

On the train back to District 12, as they sip wine into the early hours, Effie apologises for her awful comment about getting a decent district next year, a barb she knew had hit home. "This is so hard," she tells him quietly, with sad eyes. "They've offered me a transfer already, that's why it slipped out."

Haymitch is silent for a moment. "Will you take it?" He asks, his heart sinking at the thought of a Games without Effie.

Effie shook her head. "I _can't_," she says, her voice breaking as she grasps his hand, and they stare at one another, silently.

...

The first time he sees Effie Trinket almost falter in her role as District 12 escort is a year later, when she draws the names for the Quarter Quell. As she reads the paper in her hand, he sees her eyes widen and her hand shake and he _knows_.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

Effie manages to say the words, her voice quavering on the final syllable as she stares at Haymitch with undisguised horror. And despite the fact that he's just been effectively served a death sentence, told he'll be returning to the place of his nightmares, the only thing on his mind is Effie.

Peeta steps in, volunteering immediately as tribute, and Haymitch is utterly ashamed of the unabashed relief he feels. He hates that Peeta will be in the Games, but the arena is hell on Earth, and he knows he cannot face it.

Besides, for a person so hell-bent on destroying the Capitol, he's picked up a rather inconvenient urge to live.

The first time Effie Trinket saves his life is during the Quarter Quell as the former victors are preparing to escape the arena, and two peacekeepers rush into the Control Room clearly having put two and two together, pointing guns to his and Plutarch's heads.

They overlook girlish Effie, clearly recognising the Capitol girl in the enormous sapphire blue wig she's sporting for this Games as one of their own. It's a costly mistake, turning their back on Effie, and Haymitch watches in astonishment as she pulls a tiny gun from the voluminous wig, shooting both peacekeepers in quick succession.

Ignoring Plutarch, and the fact they could be discovered by more peacekeepers at any moment, Haymitch pulls Effie into a tight embrace, kissing her with all the pent-up emotions he's been suppressing for the past three years as his heart races with adrenaline.

"We've got to go," Plutarch says, as he disarms the peacekeepers, and tosses a gun to Haymitch.

"What's going on?" Effie asks as they race through the corridors, shouting to be heart over the blaring siren that has begun to sound. He knows she suspected something was afoot, and it's a relief to finally be able to tell her the truth. He fills her in as they run hand in hand, Plutarch leading the way to the hangar they know is filled with an aircraft and half the underground team. Effie says little, but Haymitch can see her absorbing it.

The only question she asks is about rescuing the tributes, and he can see that she's anxious to save them once more.

As they near the hangar that the aircraft is waiting in, they come across more Capitol guards who open fire. Haymitch knows, even as they fire and run, that they're outnumbered, but Effie makes a split-second decision and fires her tiny pistol with precision – he has no idea where she learnt to shoot properly – and hits a wall panel that causes some kind of electrical overload, sending the door hissing shut with Effie and the peacekeepers on one side, Haymitch and Plutarch on the other, by the door to the hangar.

Their eyes meet in the fraction of a second before it closes, Effie's eyes full of emotion, and he knows then that it was intentional. He hears the gunfire and Effie's screams, and Plutarch has to drag him to the aircraft with the assistance of two other members of their team who have come running at the noise.

Once airborne, Haymitch has to be forcibly restrained from ripping Plutarch's throat out. Plutarch won't let the doctors sedate him, and finally Haymitch completely breaks down for the first time in years. Plutarch apologises unreservedly, but it makes no difference as the aircraft speeds further away from the Capitol.

He points out that Effie is likely to be kept alive, and the thought makes Haymitch feel even more wretched. Yes, they certainly will keep her alive now that she's been captured trying to escape with the underground rebels that broke the victors out of the arena.

Plutarch provides a bottle of white spirit that night, but Haymitch doesn't touch a drop. Instead he stares out of the window and prays.

...

The first time he saves Effie Trinket's life is after the Capitol falls. Plutarch has made certain that Haymitch is on the team sent to release the rebels Snow had imprisoned. He reminds Haymitch that there are no guarantees, as if Haymitch needs the reminder. Back when they rebels rescued Peeta, Annie and the others, Haymitch had managed to convince them to keep an eye out for Effie in the prison. But they hadn't stumbled across her during the break out, and another of Haymitch's hopes was abruptly extinguished.

Oh, he put a brave face on it for Katniss' sake. Keeping her motivated as the Mockingjay has somehow become a full time occupation. But deep down, he knows that he isn't holding his breath; that this time, like so many others, the odds aren't quite going to be in his favour.

Of all the people in District 13, he ends up telling Peeta about his secret romance with Effie Trinket. It seems ironic, to be talking to Peeta about his love life problems when the poor lad is in the midst of a trackerjacker-venom induced identity crisis of sorts, trying to kill Katniss at every given opportunity. But Peeta is a good listener, and seems to appreciate the distraction, so Haymitch tells him everything.

To his credit, Peeta doesn't once tell Haymitch that things will be okay, or any of the other infuriating platitudes that generally make him want to punch walls. Instead, with his usual tact, he points out to Haymitch how deceptively strong Effie was – how tenacious and stubborn in some respects. She isn't weak, he reminds Haymitch. She's a survivor, too.

But still, Haymitch barely hopes anymore.

And so, the day after the Capitol falls, Haymitch leads the team that breaks into the Central Prison.

After a few hours he begins to lose any semblance of optimism. They've found some prisoners, in varying conditions, and some corpses at different stages of decomposition. They finally descend into the final layer of the building, a dank cellar with little sunlight, and rats scurrying in the corners.

And then, Haymitch hears it. He tells the soldiers to shut the fuck up, listening intently. And then the familiar cry sounds again, and he rushes down the corridor, the other prisoners long forgotten.

The door to the cell swings open, and relief flares in his chest as he sees Effie, thin and dishevelled but clearly alive, huddled in the corner of the cell wild-eyed with fear. In her hand she clutches a sharp piece of broken glass, evidently planning to go down fighting.

When she sees Haymitch, she pauses, taking him in. He sees the wary look in her eyes, and wonders what they've done to her, his beautiful Effie.

"Please be real," she pleads in a faint whisper, tears forming in her gorgeous grey eyes. "Please, _please_ be real."

He moves forward, slowly. "Effie," he says softly, suddenly at a loss for words.

Effie realises the moment she hears his voice, and suddenly she's thrown herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest sobbing wildly. He holds her tightly, stroking her hair, until he feels her strength leave her body, and scoops her into his arms as she slides towards the floor. He notices a wince of pain as she settles into his arms.

"Get me out of here," she begs, and he sees her eyes are unfocused. "Please, Haymitch."

In the hospital, Haymitch refuses to leave her side, enlisting the help of Katniss' mother, who has thrown herself into her work in the wake of Prim's death, and who practically frogmarches a doctor to Effie's bed. They quickly realise the former District 12 escort is in a bad state; exceptionally malnourished and weak as a kitten. Haymitch notices the bruises over her body, the deep red scars circling her wrists from the manacles, and he very much wants to go and murder Snow himself.

But the true extent of her injuries isn't realised until Effie says, in the faintest whisper, "my back" that the three of them roll her onto her left side, and see the deep criss-crosses marring the formerly soft skin of her back, all swollen and oozing with infection.

Katniss' mother gasps although it takes a lot to surprise her these days, and Haymitch tastes bile. The whip marks run deep along her beautiful back, the infection has clearly taken hold, and Haymitch's murderous thoughts intensify.

He meets Effie's grey eyes and strokes her cheek softly. No make up, he can see her freckles. God, he loves her freckles. "It's not too bad," he lies readily. "You'll need treatment, but it'll be alright." By her bed, the nurse and Katniss' mother are conversing in hushed, serious tones.

"I didn't tell them anything," Effie manages to tell him, and in that moment all Haymitch's worst fears are confirmed – of course they'd tortured her. "I promise I didn't."

"It doesn't matter," Haymitch replies, wiping his eyes that threaten to betray him. But Effie clings to his shirt with a fist, and he realises this is important to her.

"I didn't," she repeats, quietly. And he realises this pride is one of the things she's clung to, possibly one of the few things that's kept me going. "I didn't tell them anything."

Haymitch lays his head down next to hers on the pillow, and kisses her cheek tenderly. "Well done," he says gruffly, not quite sure what to say. "I'm proud of you, sweetheart." But Effie manages a small smile, so it seems to have been the correct thing to say.

He gazes into her eyes, stroking her hands as the Capitol doctors begin to add a pungent medicine to her back. He can tell it hurts like the devil. To distract her he fills her in about the rebellion, Katniss, Peeta, President Coin – everything.

But the only question Effie asks, when the doctors have left to see other patients and it's just the two of them in the curtained bay, is "Can I say it yet, Haymitch?"

Haymitch feels a small smile stretch across his lips as he kisses her hand. "You can say whatever you like, Effie."

Effie runs her fingers through his hair – already she seems to be getting her strength back – and gently murmurs, "you _really_ need a shower."

Haymitch pauses for a moment then laughs, for the first time in months. Next to him, Effie smiles, and he gazes into her eyes, revelling in the warmth he sees.

"I love you so much," she finally tells him, pulling him close. "So, so much. I may never stop telling you, in fact."

"You tell me all you like," he assures her, kissing her neck. "I love you so much more."

He sleeps there that night, ignoring the doctor that tries to kick him out of the ward, his head resting on the pillow as he sits in the chair by Effie's bed. Even in sleep he doesn't let go of her hand for an instant.

For once, there are no nightmares.

...

The first time he cooks for Effie Trinket, it's a few months after the fall of the Capitol, back home in District 12. Effie is back in the Capitol having more skin grafts onto her back, while Haymitch has been dispatched to keep an eye on Katniss. The separation makes him incredibly uneasy, but he knows it's all going to be worth it because when Effie Trinket steps foot off the train later on, it's for the last time. They've decided to take up permanent residence in District 12. Together.

Haymitch is petrified. He won't tell anyone, even Effie, though he thinks the always perceptive Peeta suspects. But how can you explain the insane notion that after a lifetime of the odds never quite being in your favour, you're afraid because you're finally getting exactly what you've spent the past few years longing for?

Instead he takes a deep breath and has a drink. Just the one, though.

When he finally meets her at the station, his heart actually skips a beat. She's dressed in what passes as a simple gown by Effie's standards, a cornflower blue dress. Her hair is natural, blonde and curly, and she wears just the tiniest amount of make-up. He can just see her freckles, and he smiles.

Haymitch knows it's cheesy as hell, but he can't stop himself from running across the platform to her, catching her up in his arms and swinging her around. He ignores the catcalls and the teasing comments. All that matters is that Effie's here, forever.

Dinner is a disaster, of course. Effie laughs as he overcooks the stew and even manages to burn the bread that Peeta gave him to re-heat. They end up eating crackers and cheese by candlelight, with a bottle of Honeyblossom wine to wash it down. Effie admonishes him for pouring it into tumblers instead of wineglasses, and he kisses the etiquette speech from her lips. While he catches her up on all the latest news of Katniss and Peeta, who seem to actually be together after all this time, he can't resist telling her about the Geese he tried to raise on a whim, and sheepishly admits that he's named all five of them.

Effie giggles, and they wind up cuddling together in front of the fire. He doesn't want to pressure her, not in the slightest, just because it's been an awfully long time – but when they kiss and Effie's hands begin to wander, well, Haymitch isn't going to complain.

They make love in front of the fire, slowly. Haymitch takes a primitive satisfaction in making her scream his name, not giving a damn who hears. Afterwards, they curl up in front of the flames, and Haymitch pulls a blanket over Effie to keep her warm as she lies against his chest.

"I dreamed of this, you know," Effie says, after a few moments as she stares into the flames, her eyes slightly haunted. "In the cell."

She rarely talks about the prison, and Haymitch doesn't like to pry, sensing she'll talk when she's ready, but she's given him an opening.

"Really?" He asks her.

Effie nods. "It kept me sane, you know. I thought about us, and all the things we'd do after it was all over. I think it kept me hanging on, sometimes. When I woke up with nightmares, I used to pretend you were there."

For a moment, Haymitch doesn't say anything, feeling somewhat overwhelmed at being _that_ damn important to her. "I love you," he says, kissing her forehead. "All those things you thought of, I don't give a damn what they are, we're doing them all."

Effie looks up at him, a teasing light suddenly in her grey eyes. "Excellent, you can start with that foot massage, then."

He laughs, tickling her before that gives way to kisses, and as they make love again he realises, suddenly, this is what being happy is.

...

The first time he proposes marriage to Effie Trinket, it's in the flowering meadow in District 12 on a summer afternoon. And technically, he proposes marriage to Peter Mellark, who considers himself something of an expert on the subject since marrying Katniss, as Peeta has offered to help him practice.

"Will you," Haymitch asks, swallowing deeply. "Do me the honour of becoming my wife?" He kneels down on one knee, ring outstretched, and Peeta shakes his head thoughtfully.

"Too formal, I think Haymitch. Remember, it's Effie; you need to be a bit more flowery and over-the-top."

Haymitch sighs, rethinking. "How about Effie, you are the most important thing in my life. Without you, I am nothing. Please, will you be my wife?"

He thinks it's quite good, but Peter purses his lips. "A bit better. I don't know, it's still missing something, Haymitch."

Haymitch considers for a moment, standing up to brush the grass from his knees. "What about this. Effetta Amaryllis Trinket, you saved my life not once, not twice, but every single day by simply giving me a reason for living. Will you do me the greatest honour imaginable, and consent to become my wife?"

Peeta tries not to, but he can't stop laughing, and Haymitch kicks the ground in frustration as he slides the ring box back into his pocket. "Sorry, sorry! That was just far too forced, nowhere near natural enough. But," he continues with the ghost of a smile on his face. "You _did_ nail flowery."

"This is ridiculous," Haymitch growls.

Peeta tries to think of something supportive to say, but instead bursts out laughing again. Finally, he takes Haymitch for a drink, deciding his former mentor definitely deserves it.

He ultimately ends up proposing that evening. Effie's sat in the garden, her favourite part of the house, and of all things she teaches him how to make a daisy chain. She looks so beautiful, the evening sunlight making her curls shine like spun gold, and without meaning to, he ends up blurting out "Marry me?"

Her mouth drops open. Then, she smiles, a full, beaming smile and kisses him. "Yes, yes, oh _yes_!"

...

The first time he realises,_ really_ realises, that he's actually going to live happily ever after with Effie Trinket Abernathy is a year later; the day she tells him, sounding somewhat surprised, that she's pregnant.

"I just didn't think it would happen so quickly," she admits, sounding dazed. "If at all, I mean… we're hardly young. I didn't think we'd be able to, if I'm being honest." But she's clearly happy, the delighted grin across her face says it all, and she walked in almost glowing with joy.

Haymitch just doesn't know what to say as he swallows the sudden lump in his throat, but he pulls her into an embrace and holds her tight. He's never been great with words – a lifetime of rarely admitting to your emotions for fear of the Capitol using them will do that – but he holds her close and strokes her hair.

A baby. A family. He never thought he'd have that; he'd sworn years ago that no child of his would ever risk the Hunger Games or being a pawn in the Capitol's schemes, and therefore there had to be no children to risk. For over twenty years he'd never even entertained the possibility. And now… For the first time he allows himself to picture a tiny girl with Effie's chirpy optimism, a tiny boy with his eyes. God, he wants this so much.

"Are you happy?" Effie asks in a small voice, and Haymitch mentally kicks himself for being silent.

"Completely," he says, kissing her deeply. "Totally, completely, utterly."

...


End file.
